


A Hundred Questions Wrapped in One

by Jakathine



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angel Wings, Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hugs, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Past Lives, Questions, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 12:58:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19464484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakathine/pseuds/Jakathine
Summary: Short, sweet, and fluffy.Kinda like foam on a mocha. :)





	A Hundred Questions Wrapped in One

_Now in most accounts of angels versus demons you can almost always see the generic contrast between them. It created a basic dichotomy that even humans could understands the barebones of and are most of what was actually agreed upon within religious interpretations._

_Angels were often depicted with halos, purity surrounding their composure, while light shines on them from above or at least behind. Demons were shown as quite the opposite with horns and pointy tails, a heavy shadow overcast that made their given corruptional tendencies a greater depth. Their differences were seen as mutually exclusive._

_Yet this is not entirely the truth._

Aziraphale noted the wings of the new demon - Crawley he called himself - that they were black as night, though they held a reddish-blue sheen to them as if sparkled with minute stars. His own wings were whitish-gold, with a barely visible glow to them in the overbearing sunlight so the contrast was stark as they stood next to each other. Before now, Aziraphale had never actually met any demons who possessed wings. 

Rumors were whispered around heaven that the only of the Fallen who had wings were former Archangels. Lucifer who now had leathery wings stretching wide was no great secret, but little else was known on the current appearance of the other former archangels.

Crawley though was friendly enough, breaking the ice between them easily with his idle chatter. It was when he complimented Aziraphale’s choice to give away the flaming sword to Eve and Adam that Aziraphale felt the rest of the fridgidness melt away.

They continued to talk as they watched over the desert and thus started a topsy-turvy friendship.

The subject of the wing differentiation didn’t come up again until after they had helped stopped the End Days. When Aziraphale stretched his wings for the first time in decades he felt a sense of elation, unwinding his neck from an unrealized tension that had settled there due to having hidden his wings so long.

Crowley’s own wings were once again black just as they had been when they first met, that same reddish-blue sheen twinkling in the light. Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure where in the timestream Crowley had placed them but the surroundings less than subtle on mimicking the desert they once met in. He did not know what he had hoped to see after all this time, but seeing the wings again made the question start to blossom in Aziraphale’s heart. 

Once life had resumed a relatively normal structure once again, they celebrated with wine in Aziraphale’s bookshop after he had closed it for the evening. It was there that he finally became brave enough to ask the question that had been burning his tongue for some time.

“Crowley, you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to…” Aziraphale drew in a breath, pushing all the rest out in one go lest he entirely bow out, “...but of all the demons I’ve run across before, excluding Lucifer given consideration of who he is, why is it you have wings, yet they otherwise do not?”

Crowley had been lounging on the couch, posture relaxed and wine glass casually being swirled in his hand. The question made him halt his movement and sit up, his eyes narrowing with thought. It was a question one does not get asked often, especially not him by not just anyone. He sighed and put down his glass. 

Aziraphale started to sputter, slightly upsetting himself at the notion he may have upset Crowley, “Again - you don’t have to answer if you don’t want…”

His words were cut off by Crowley flopping his hand about to shush him, “I don’t mind, angel. It’s just…” he sucked on his teeth as if searching for the right words, “I was once an Archangel, or an ofanim in the Judaic texts. I am no longer allowed to say my true name, as that was stripped from me, but I can say that the most common name I was considered was the Angel of Healing and Travelers, among other things.”

Aziraphale looked down at the glass in his hand, flushing at the implication of just how high a place Crowley had actually Fallen from originally. Crowley was continuing to talk, which drew his attention back to him.

“Now, if you were to guess who I once was, I would be able to tell you a yes or a no on how correct you may be. Depending on who you remember working around in Heaven would be one way; no doubt in all of your years as a bookkeeper you’ve run across Angelology texts or theoretical approaches to how things may have happened during the Fall.”

This was a true fact, Aziraphale had to admit to himself. He had a whole section of his private collection devoted solely to such texts. He found it fascinating how humans pictured their kinds, pondering how they perceived such things to either startling accuracy or horrifying disproportions. He had also studied these texts to a near-religious degree, over the years scouring the pages for something that could tell him about Crowley’s possible origins in Heaven. Of this part he was never going to admit aloud to Crowley himself.

“Yes, I have read many things like that,” Aziraphale stated, “Especially particular to the Angel hierarchy as humans are always particular in the order of things. Though, that shouldn't be surprising given they are made in God’s image so to a degree they may think similarly too.” he chose his next words carefully, “There is one such angel I rarely heard mentioned before, but when in consideration I hear nothing of anymore.”

“And which angel would that be?” Crowley asked, his voice trying to sound light, but to Aziraphale’s familiar ears came across as almost frightened. 

“Raphael.”

The moment hung in the air, heavy with possibility and abuzz with trepidation. 

Slowly, Crowley leaned forward so his wings could lift from behind him, their massive size arching up high and the edges of the feathers brushing against the floor. Aziraphale took in the sight, more used to it now than before. His eyes softened as he looked at Crowley’s face which was flushed a little from the alcohol and a little from something else he couldn’t quite place.

It took a soft start, but once Crowley was speaking it all came out in a rush, "Once, my wings were like yours. Cream and gold, shining as brightly as the Sun. I even looked the same, red hair and all. My eyes - now turned into a snake's - were once rings of gold while similar flecks were scattered across my brow like the stars I hung for Her." he looked over at his black-toned wings which truly were still light colored underneath but had stained over time in the dank basement that was hell.

The space felt so full of everything - of Crowley and his wings, of Aziraphale and his statement, but most of all it was full of _relief._ Aziraphale felt the feeling seep into his very core he placed his glass down and rushed Crowley, gathering him into a tight hug. At first Crowley stiffened all over, caught off guard by the embrace, but quickly melted into it.

Silent sobs racked Crowley’s form as Aziraphale continued to hold on tight. He only finally let go when he felt Crowley pushing on his chest to separate them, his eyes puffy from teras which were quickly drying. It took a few tries, but finally Crowley spoke.

“It has been a long time since someone has called me by my Name…” he said, wiping the back of his jacket sleeve against his face, “Thank you, angel.”

Aziraphale tilted Crowley’s face up to his before kissing him gently on the forehead, “Always, my dear.” then ever so gently he released his own wings, wrapping them around himself and Crowley to create a cocooning embrace where their wings’ edges met.

It was there they stayed, the outside world nothing more than background noise, while they two held onto each other tight as if nothing else mattered. 

  


**Author's Note:**

> Short, sweet, and fluffy.  
> Kinda like foam on a mocha. :)


End file.
